


Better Than I know Myself

by Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot, Silver_Eternity



Category: Bleach
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, emphasis on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot/pseuds/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Eternity/pseuds/Silver_Eternity
Summary: The other him found, after twelve years of exhausting his mind of every evil fantasy, of every promise and every threat, he really only had one thing to say to the idiot who believed he could keep the throne and toss away the loyal horse like a broken toy.MINE.





	Better Than I know Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the video for Adam Lambert's Better Than I Know Myself, especially about the co-dependency between the two halves, and how one's disregard for the other leads to chaos and destruction.

Dispondent. That was the word that sprang to mind when he opened his eyes that morning. No alarm clock blaring in his ears, no thundering footsteps from family members rushing about to get ready for the day, no friendly high kick to the back of his head or even over his head. No, the world around him felt like it was muffled. Even the sounds of the city beyond his window were hushed as though someone had turned the volume down on a particularly well-worn set of speakers. He felt his eyes move more than saw the scenery change in his vision. From the semi-blurred outlines of the blankets and pillow under his cheek to the window, closed against the nighttime chill, and muted sunlight that washed everything in pale yellow like a faded photograph. His blink seemed to last for hours, and the thought that something should be happening eddied around in the sludge of his mind. Not even the gentle tug of reiatsu at his senses was enough to garner attention. Someone else would get it. Someone more important. Someone that mattered. Someone that wasn't a drain on society, soaking up the money given to him and giving nothing in return.

The fact that he didn't _need_ to give anything in return and that his entire income was back pay for the four years of dedicated service he'd given Soul Society was entirely beside the point. He hadn't wanted to take it, feeling that because he'd been fighting for his friends he didn't really deserve it. But Shunsui had insisted, stating that even if Yama-jii hadn't ever seen to it, it was the substitute's due, and maybe if Soul Society started caring about that sort of thing, maybe they'd be able to avoid needing to call on their youngest weapon of mass destruction quite so often.

That had been nearly twelve years ago. One for each division, if he was so inclined to be humorous. It was also seven attempts at college, seven different majors and seven dropouts, four apartments, and countless menial jobs ago. He hadn't needed the extra income, but it had been something to do instead of laying about his apartment feeling lazy and useless, which was becoming more and more the norm lately. He tried to keep in shape, keep his blade honned, but the drive just wasn't there. He stayed trim, but some part of him knew with a sinking fear that if Soul Society needed him now for something like Aizen or the Quincy or even a rogue Arrancar, he'd fail. Miserably.

And that thought was usually followed with, would that really be such a bad thing?

Today, as always when that WEAK, WEAK thought drifted his way, a being that had been blocked out, locked away, tied down and forgotten (oh, how he hated that. How he hated He thought he could just THROW HIM ASIDE like a broken weapon) threw himself at the walls of his cage.

And he screamed.

 _I'LL FUCKIN' KILL YOU,_ he howled out into the black aether that only echoed back at him, _I WILL DESTROY YOUR FUCKING WEAK USELESS LITTLE SELF AND I WILL TAKE WHAT YOU AIN'T GOT THE FUCKIN' BRAINS TO USE! I WILL CLAIM WHAT YOU MOTHERFUCKIN' WASTE AN' I WILL MAKE SURE YA NEVER FUCKIN' GET IT BACK!_

He slammed against the wall of his prison again, raking bone-like scything claws against it with all the rage and fury he held powering his hands. Little by little, bit by bit, it was chipping away. Soon. Soon he would break out. Soon he would keep his promises. Chip by chip. Scrape by scrape. Soon this confine would shatter like glass. Yes, soon.

He hammered harder and screeched so hard it hurt. As he had for the past twelve years, he could continue this intimidating, if useless, display until his throat was raw and he lost his voice, and his battered body forced him to rest and regroup, only to begin again.

SOON!

With the weight a thousand mountains pushing at him to stay in bed, Ichigo Kurosaki, proud protector of the four worlds, hauled himself out from under the covers, his shoulders slumped and back bent. His feet dragged into the bathroom, and he didn't need to look at the mirror to know his teeth were disgusting, his hair unwashed and too long, deep shadows sunken under his eyes, and cracked, rough-chewed lips too dry from a night filled with unremembered terror. When had he showered last? A glance at the ablution chamber told him nothing, and it was with a dragging sort of slow motion that he frowned at the soap that had been sitting on the counter longer than he could remember at that moment.

"I should do that." He told no one.

But instead he turned away, the mere thought of measuring the temperature too much to handle on a day like this.

On his way back to his bedroom he stopped and frowned again. What had he been doing? Food? Clothing? Did he have clean clothing? When had he washed he dishes last? He was uncertain, and that part of him that railed against his despondency, screamed louder at his ineffectiveness. Years ago he'd have been beating himself up for lapses like this, but now? He just didn't have the energy.

SLAM!

SLAM!

SLAM!

SL--chink?

The spirit paused, wiggling his left middle claw. There was... yes, there was space on the other side. He'd broken through! HE'D BROKEN THROUGH!! He attacked that spot with renewed appetite and energy, using teeth, liquefied cero to act as acid, anything, everything, lashing and clawing and kicking and beating until finally- finally there was a space big enough to just wriggle through.

He plopped forth into the inner world like a snake hatchling wriggling out of the leathery shell, and immediately started to curse. There had been some infernal noise the entire time he was in that box, a sound like an eternal rattle of pine needles- well, it turned out to be rain, because there he stood, drenched. And freezing. And angrier than ever.

With that anger, he reached out- reached up- and _twisted_.

Something knocked the wind from his lungs, the hybrid’s hand coming up to his bare chest, and he buckled onto the couch coughing for oxygen as though he'd been strangled. He gripped the edge of the cushions, knuckles white, eyes wide. There was a lance of pain through his psyche that had him crying out, the hand on his chest flying to his temple as his vision blurred. He felt drenched and cold. And he shivered, breathing through his teeth.

The other him found, after twelve years of exhausting his mind of every evil fantasy, of every promise and every threat, he really only had one thing to say to the idiot who believed he could keep the throne and toss away the loyal horse like a broken toy.

_MINE._

Then he pulled, hauled back with all his strength, working to force the switch which would give him the body and force the King in here to endure the eternal rain and that damnable box instead.

Nameless, formless, powerless, nothing resisted the switch. There was a token moment of panic, an echo of a time long gone, and then... he gave up, and when the orangette landed in his inner world, floating on the endless sea of despair, all he did was turn over to stare at the broken, ruins of skyscrapers defeated a long, long time ago. Some morbid part of him intoned that if the Hollow wanted him.... well, there were worse ways to go, he figured.

The hollow sneered. "Fuckin' waste. You spen' all tha' fuckin' time lockin' me up an' yeh fuckin' waste what yeh fought me fer." He nudged him in the side. "Works fine by me. You go sit in th'fuckin' cage. I'm gonna go out an' do a lil' fuckin' livin'."

With that, he jumped up to the surface, to consciousness, to take control of the body and assess the damage done.

He could already smell how bad the nest was before he even got there- shit, he was sitting hollow bait!

Surprised, Ichigo blinked, "You're not gonna eat me? I thought... that was the point. If I failed you'd eat me. I've been waiting." He was starting to get angry, an irrational hatred that had been brewing beyond the apathy he hadn't even realized was there until the words were flying out of his mouth. "Useless and good for nothing, wasted and worthless. WHY WON'T YOU EAT ME!?!?!?!" He ended in a scream, and thunder crashed somewhere above his head. "I WAITED FOR YOU GOD DAMN IT!!!"

He turned around to survey Ichigo, to look down upon him and his helpless, irrational, futile anger.

"If ya were waitin', ya shoulda unlocked th'box," he said condescendingly, before adding, with a cruel smile, "An' why th'fuck would I eat ya? Yer too weak t'be any good t'me."

Well that cinched it. Nothing really happened to the lost Shinigami, but all around them, there was a great shuddering of breaking metal. The entire mindscape heaved, glass shards raining through the water, falling into the abyss below, and the clouds above darkened, bleeding into absolute blackness. Light faded quickly, until the only thing illuminated was Ichigo, and even he was shadowed. A decade of exhaustion hung in his eyes as he looked at his Hollow, then winked out, the entire mindscape blanketed in oppressive darkness more enclosing than even what had been in the cage. There was nothing. Literally.

Only the Hollow, mostly to the surface, and suspended in the nothingness.

"...Son of a bitch," he spat, lashing out- looking for an edge, looking for...something, anything! He didn't want to be stuck like this! He didn't want-- he didn't want to die, goddamn it! He howled in new rage into the blackness, and nothing, not even an echo, answered him. His ceros simply fizzled out. "FUCK NO! YOU ARE NOT FUCKIN' DOIN' THIS T'ME, YA WORTHLESS SACKA HALFPINT HORSESHIT! GIT BACK 'ERE! LEMME OUT!"

There was no response. For all that the Hollow had always claimed he could take the throne, the mindscape had always and ever only responded to Ichigo's moods. Meaning the Horse could never fully be in control, no matter how much he wanted it, or thought he could do it better. And the proof stared him in the face. He'd done what he always promised he would. He found the weakness in his King and sent him under, with a swift, perfectly targeted blow. He was _supposed_ to be the King now! He WAS!

So... why?

He sat down where he'd been stuck, kicking and snarling before finally falling quiet, pursing his lips tightly.

He knew why.

"I fuckin' lied, okay?! Get back 'ere, Ichigo Kurosaki," he called into the empty space. "I know yer there. I can fuckin' feel ya. I ain't gonna eat'cha 'cuz I fuckin' can't, ya whoppin' bogger."

It would take more than that, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He'd exploited the very weakness that had caused the rain in the first place, had said the very thing that gnawed away at the King's confidence, confirmed all of his worst fears, and shattered the fang of the broken moon. But pride was not something easily over come, and admitting when he was wrong was not something the Hollow had ever had to do. Because the King had always known! He knew him better!! _He should've known better!!!_

"Aaagh."

He raked his hands through his own hair, swallowing hard. Dammit! He flailed blindly in the dark for a few moments more as he tried to gather both his thoughts and the balls to say them aloud. He didn't want to. He was supposed to prod the King on, gods dammit, he was supposed to spur him to retaliate! Not... whatever it was he was trying to do now.

"There's a reason I'm classified as an 'inner hollow', King. I'm inner. I can't fuckin' leave your soul. Not yer body, yer SOUL. I'm stuck here. For better or worse. If I ate you, or tried, all I'd do is erase m'self because you'd take over. Yer the King. Yer th'core, the seed, the foundation. If I did eat ya, ya'd fucking dominate me in a heartbeat: total erasure. And yer s'posed t'know this!"

It made him angry, the same irrational anger that had come upon Ichigo.

"Yer th'King! You know this shit! You KNOW I'm designed ta stab ya where it hurts t'make ya get up an' do somethin' about it! Not shut down, throw a hissy fit fucking temper tantrum an' kill us both!"

A burble of something too far down in the darkness to be clearly seen made the nothingness shiver. Not encouragement, not a response, just acknowledgement that somewhere in the darkness the King was listening. Or at least he was hearing. The fact that the blackness remained showed that he clearly didn't believe what the Horse was saying.

"Listen ya thick-headed-- I'm basically a soul parasite. I sponge off yer reiatsu t'survive. If you die, I die. If I eat you, I die and you regain th'power I've been livin' off of. If I died... say th'old man killed me, you? You wouldn't feel a thing. Wouldn't miss a drop of me. Get a lil' power boost, lose the mask but not need it anymore, an' be down one annoyin' voice in yer head. When I rise up, yer supposed t'prove me wrong. When I threaten yer friends, yer supposed t'make me back off. When I say you ain't worth eatin', yer s'posed t'beat th'shit outta me and show me tha' yes, ya fuckin' are!"

A single word floated out of the darkness, "Useless."

"Ya fuckin' stopped me in me goddamn tracks din't ya? Kept me from gettin' out? What th'fuck d'ya call tha'?"

"Luck?"

"It ain't luck when yer th'fuckin' King! The goddamn inner world is yer fuckin' playground. Anythin' ya command 'ere is done! Includin' this--" he waved wildly at the nothingness around. "Total blackout!"

"S'what I deserve."

"Ain't yer place t'decide tha'! An' fer tha' matter, even if it is what you deserve, whattabout me?! I'm stuck here innit too!"

Ichigo didn't have an answer for that, just a bubble of something like reiatsu floated up mimicking air being released from a submerged ship. He really couldn't bring himself to care. Worthless, useless, too weak to even be eaten, whether the Hollow had been lying or not. He wasn't any good for anybody anymore and this just confirmed it. Nobody needed him. What good was a protector without anyone to protect?

"Goddamit! Don'tcha fuckin' get it?" He wanted to grab him, wanted to SLAP him— "Yer s'posed t'protect me! Lead me! Stop makin' me tryin' do this myself!"

That burble sound came again, and something akin to sunlight shown through a crack in the darkness with the definitive air of a question. He wanted to believe, and that desire made the world throb painfully, but he was buried under so much rubble that he couldn't make himself actually reach for it.

Shiro twisted around where he was stuck suspended, reaching for that spot. "M'a hollow, King. Yer m'King, my pack leader. My everythin'. I answer t'you, an' in turn, you lead me. I support you, you take care'o me. S'how it works. I can't fuckin' hold it t'gether by m'self, I ain't made like that!"

"You need me?" His voice was flat, far off and strained, the echo of being underwater was gone, and the burble turned out to be the shift of chains.

"Yes, I fuckin' need you," he cried. "I'm only half of a whole! I can't function without my other half, King, I can't survive without you!"

There was more light, casting the ruined cityscape in the monotone shades of twilight. Hung where the Old Man's flagpole used to be, was a spire that looked suspiciously like their bankai blade. The King, broken and bleeding, hung from the chain on the end, links piercing his muscles to bind him to the sword.

The hollow struggled to reach him— it was like moving through molasses, but he could move, and he clawed and swam his way over to Ichigo where he could begin to chew on the chain. "How the fuck did you even— I'll get it out. Fix ya up. Fuckin' hell, King."

Tears he'd never shed where anyone else could see streamed down Ichigo's face, "I... can't." His breath was short and his voice cracked, "Alone... I can't..."

Shiro poked the hybrid's cheek. "Oi. Ain't alone, King. Never alone. You don't 'ave to. Tha's what I'm 'ere fer."

"Wh-where were y-you?" Amber eyes swam lost and hurting more than he'd ever thought possible. "Y-you were gone. Old Man c-couldn't find you. Af-fter the...sword..."

"Stuck," he replied around links as he crunched through. "Little... black... box. No sound. No light. Couldn' feel ya, hear ya."

"Nngh!" The links exploded, ripped out one by one as the Hollow pulled on them, and the more free the King was, the more he leaned onto the inversion of himself. He blamed himself for it, "D-di'n't know..." Inexplicably, he pulled against the chain around his neck to turn into the white skin below him, and apologized, "...hurt you...t-too."

Shiro stopped long enough to nuzzle into his jaw and breathe. "Shh. S'ok. Ya din't know.

He took out another link, and another, breaking them quickly.

There was a shimmer of light, the sun on the horizon, just peeking over, and the chains dissolved all but for the one metal band around his neck. Freed from the blade, Ichigo collapsed onto the Hollow's shoulder, "So tired, Shii..."

He cradled his King and gently held him against himself, nuzzling him. "I know. You rest, King. I'll clean up th'den. You take a day off."

"M'sorry." He slurred.

He repeated it several times, clinging to the one person who'd always supported him, even if he'd been too blind to see it that way. After all, whose mask was it really that had helped him win their war. Twice.

Shiro sighed and kissed his head, stroking his hair. "Shhhhh. It's ok," he reassured him again, and again, until he finally laid himself to get some rest and recuperate.

When Shiro took hold of the body, the place was a sty. That was okay, he needed something to do anyway. First things first- he rolled up his sleeves and started the laundry. It was going to take one hell of long time, because everything that wasn't dirty was dusty and needed washing anyway. While the first load washed, he started on dishes- and between all the rest of the loads, he finished dishes, washed the kitchen floor, vacuumed the carpets, washed the entire bathroom, and finally, threw his filthy clothes in the last load of laundry and took a shower, changed into fresh pajamas, and ordered takeout. The fridge had needed scrubbing top to bottom and the food thrown out, so he didn't bother with cooking, and the takeout turned out pretty well anyway.

Then he went to sleep, the apartment clean, almost sparkling, and definitely smelling much better than it had.


End file.
